


Poison Oak

by shootupsom3you



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: I just had a lot of feelings, M/M, Mention of major character death, Modern AU, Music, Songfic, bright eyes - Freeform, hernst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:33:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25662901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shootupsom3you/pseuds/shootupsom3you
Summary: A self-indulgent fic inspired by the lyrics of Poison Oak by Bright Eyes chronicling Hanschen and Ernst's lives together and apart. Spoiler alert: I definitely do sadness.I highly recommend listening to the song before/during/after reading, but you do you B-)
Relationships: Hanschen Rilow/Ernst Robel
Kudos: 5





	Poison Oak

_Poison oak, some boyhood bravery,_

_when a telephone was a tin can on a string…_

"Hansi, do you think we'll still be friends when we're older?" Ernst glances at Hanschen as they walk, kicking stones back and forth on the sidewalk. Hanschen scoffs, lightly pushing Ernst with a smirk.

"I don't know, probably. You know too much about me for me to let you go," Hanschen jokes, kicking an unusually large pebble into the empty street. Ernst laughs, shaking his head. It wasn't unlike Hanschen to play off a serious moment, but Ernst's tone revealed vulnerability that Hans would be careless to ignore. He sighs, "Yeah, Ernst, I do. Why? Do you think that we won't?"

"No, no it's not that it's just..." Ernst paused, shoving his hands into the pockets of his red bermuda shorts, “nevermind, it’s dumb. Forget I said anything.”

”C’mon, Ernst, just tell me. You know I won’t laugh, probably.”

Ernst sighs, “It’s just that I don’t want anything to change once we get to high-school. I know it’s dumb, but you’re the best friend that I’ve got.”

After a tense moment of silence, Hanschen chuckles, “You’re right Ernst, that was dumb. Of course things will change, but that doesn’t mean we won’t still be friends, it just means that we’ll be taller or get girlfriends,”

Ernst’s cheeks burn red, barely visible in the creeping darkness of dusk. Yes. They’ll get bigger and taller, go to college, get girlfriends, wives, jobs, eventually getting houses right next door, and then their kids will be best friends. Of course, they would still be best friends, Ernst was being silly.

_and I fell asleep with you still talking to me,_

_you said you weren't afraid to die…_

"Do you want another beer?" Hanschen held two Coors Lite's in his hands, holding one out to Ernst. Ernst nods and Hanschen tosses him the beer, the can so slick with condensation that Ernst almost loses his grip and drops it in the fire in front of them.

Grunting his thanks, Ernst pats the space next to him on his sleeping bag, beckoning Hanschen to sit. Ernst cracks his can open as Hanschen sits, cold foam running down his fingers, "Here, I got you something," he says, wiping the foam onto the back of Hanschen's sweatshirt. Hanschen rolls his eyes with a chuckle, playfully punching Ernst in the shoulder in retaliation.

They were the last ones awake at their campsite. Wendla and Martha had gone off to the girls tent hours ago, claiming that they needed to get their beauty rest. Otto had drunk too much and went to lie down in the tent, so Georg followed him to make sure he didn't choke on his own tongue. Melchior and Thea had gone off on a midnight hike, while Ilse and Moritz took their sleeping bags and looked for a quiet place to smoke themselves to sleep. Camping with his friends had always been Ernst's favorite part of the summer, and this year was no exception.

Camping had become a sort of tradition in their little group; every summer before school started, they would get together and sleep under the stars. When they were little, they would just go to Wendla or Georg's backyard, but now that they were older-- with cars and their own money-- they would caravan out to a state park for a weekend to talk, drink, and be together.

Ernst had decided that he didn't want to sleep in the tent, and that the night sky would be a much more picturesque ceiling to dream beneath than old canvas. Hanschen thought that was stupid and had set his things up in the tent he was sharing with Georg and Otto, insisting that Ernst will be the first one to get eaten by bears in the night.

"Well I won't be much of a meal, so you all will have barely any time to escape!" Ernst countered, unrolling the large purple sleeping bag that he had borrowed from Wendla.

But that was hours ago, before the stars had come out, before Otto got sick, before Hanschen's limbs had grown heavy and tired.

"Do you believe in God?" Hanschen had asked after a long and draining sip from his drink, crushing the can in his fists and pitching it into the campfire.

"Yeah, I do, Hans. I mean, not the god that says we're all horrible sinners that will burn in hell if we don't do whatever dumb shit he says, but the nice one that loves us, and wants to see us happy" Ernst muses, staring intently into the fire, as if his answer had come from the red-orange flames.

"I don't," Hanschen says, voice low and gruff.

"Then what do you think happens when we die?" Ernst's eyes are wide, turning to look into Hanschen's for the answer. He didn't care that Hans didn't believe in God-- Melchior didn't and Ernst still liked him well enough, even if he was kind of preachy about it sometimes. He was just curious.

"I don't know, and I don't really care."

"What if there isn't anything, aren't you afraid?" Ernst leaned back on the sleeping bag, looking longingly at the stars before shutting his eyes, waiting for Hanschen's voice to bring him back.

"No.”

_In Polaroids you were dressed in women's clothes,_

_were you made ashamed, why'd you lock them in the drawer?_

They drove for hours, finally stopping on the coast at sunrise. Sitting in the trunk of Ernst's mom's minivan, they watch the sun peak out over the water. It was breathtaking; watching the dark purple sky fill with subtle blues, reds, and pinks as the rays reached the sky. As gorgeous as the scenery was, Ernst couldn't take his eyes off of the boy-- young man sitting next to him. The curve of his lips as they curled into a small smile, the sharpness of his jaw contrasted with the softness of his cheeks, the orange light making his eyes come awake even though they had driven through the night.

"Beautiful." Hanschen whispers, not caring how cliché it was to find beauty in the sunrise. It was as if Hanschen didn't know that it doesn't matter how many sunrises you see; each one is going to be breathtaking.

Ernst hums in agreement, beholding the sun illuminate his friends features. No matter how many times he looked at Hanschen, he was always breathtaking.

_Well I don't think that I ever loved you more…_

“When did you know?”

“I don’t know, a while? When do you really know?”

“Stop bullshitting me Ernst, you knew damn well what you were doing. God, your parents are gonna freak out! My parents are gonna freak out! I can’t believe you’d be so- so- so irresponsible!” Hanschen shouts, exasperated by Ernst’s blasé attitude, “Ernst do you know what they’re gonna do to you?”

“I don’t care. I kissed somebody, why is that so terrible? Why are you trying to make me feel like such a freak?” Ernst raises his voice, the initial shock that numbed him was wearing off as tears stung his eyes. He sits down in the grass, hugging his knees to his chest; on the hill overlooking the old vineyard, he felt so small.

“Ernst, no,” Hanschen’s tone softens, “No, I could never think you’re a freak. I’m sorry that I yelled I was just... surprised. Why didn’t you tell me?” Hanschen sits next to him,

"I dunno, it just didn't seem that important," Ernst shrugs, sniffling. Why did it have to be so complicated? Max had wanted to kiss him too, why was that such a big deal? Everything was fine-- perfect even-- until stupid Bobby Mahler had to walk in and open his big fat mouth.

The look of shame and fear on Max's face was etched into Ernst's mind. He probably wouldn't talk to Ernst again.

"Fuck, Ernst. I'm sorry. It's okay, you're going to be okay" Hanschen leans over to take Ernst in his arms, wrapping him in a hug. Hugs from Hanschen were rare, but were always genuine. Ernst sobs into his friends shoulder, clutching at Hanschen's shirt as if to pull him even closer, farther into this shitstorm.

"Why is it different for me? Why can Melchior kiss Wendla without being ridiculed, and I can't kiss someone that I like?" Ernst's voice was bitter and angry-- angry at the world, angry at Bobby fucking Mahler for sticking his nose in places that it didn't belong, angry at himself.

Hanschen sighs, patting Ernst on the back. Hanschen had held his friend while he cried many times, but never like this. He wanted to tell Ernst that everything was going to be just fine, and that everyone would understand and support him unconditionally. But he knew better than to lie to his best friend.

_then when you turned away,_

_when you slammed the door,_

_when you stole the car and drove towards Mexico…_

"I don't know, Ernst," Ernst could barely hear Hanschen's reply, despite being cradled close to his chest.

"Then why do I feel like this?" Ernst sounded so broken, so alone.

Hanschen had to do something, anything, to convince this boy that he wasn't.

It was probably a stupid idea, Hanschen realized that as he held Ernst's cheeks, forcing their eyes to meet; Ernst's wide, puffy, red eyes to Hanschen's watery blue. Beautiful.

_and you wrote bad checks just to fill your arm;_

_I was young enough, I still believed in war…_

They didn't know which of them leaned in first, or who broke the kiss, or whose tears were wet on whose face, but to them it didn't matter.

"Beautiful," Hanschen whispers against Ernst's cheek. Shivering, Ernst rests his forehead on his friends’ shoulder.

_Well, let the poets cry themselves to sleep,_

_and all their tearful words would turn back into steam…_

"I'm scared, Hanschen," Ernst's timid voice was muffled, but Hanschen could hear it breaking.

"Well," Hans reasoned, pressing a kiss to Ernst's neck, "then I guess I'll have to be brave for the both of us."

_But me, I'm a single cell on a serpent’s tongue,_

"Shit, I think you bit my lip."

"Oh, sorry. I'm just... sorry..."

"It's okay, it was kind of hot."

"Hansi, don't be gross."

"Don't be gross? It's going to be tough to not be gross while my dick's in your mouth."

"No, it's-- fine. Whatever. Just let me-- there. You know, this would be a lot easier with the lights on."

"Maybe, but I like the mystery, it's kind of hot,"

"If you don't quit making jokes I'm going to bite you down here, then you won't be joking."

"Okay, okay, jeez, sorry. Oh... Oh fuck... Maybe I wasn't joking."

"You talk too much. Maybe we should switch positions, you look really hot with your mouth full."

"Oh now who's making-- Fuck! Mmhm just like that..."

_There's a muddy field where a garden was,_

_and I'm glad you got away,_

_but I'm still stuck out here,_

"Honestly, Hanschen, I'll be fine." Ernst huffs, obviously not fine. He dropped the duffle bag he was carrying and flopped onto the bed.

"Okay, okay. Just think, though, in a few months, we'll be out of here, Ernst. We can do whatever we want whenever we want, and you won't have to even think about your dad," Hanschen reasons, sitting next to Ernst's limp form.

"But I want to. I want him to be in my life. I should have known better..." Ernst trails off, grabbing a pillow and smashing it over his face.

"Yeah... But when you're ready to look on the bright side, you'll see that you're not living under the same roof as a homophobe," Hanschen offers, his feeble attempts at humor falling flat, "I just wish that I could fix it for you."

Sitting up, Ernst leans his head on Hanschen's shoulder, eyes red. Lacing their fingers together, Ernst kisses the back of Hanschen's hand.

"I know, that's why I love you," Ernst's voice is hoarse and quiet, but Hanschen couldn't miss the words if he tried.

_My clothes are soaking wet from your brothers’ tears..._

Moritz's funeral was three weeks before they left. Wendla's was five days. They couldn't in good conscience leave Melchior alone. Splitting up their group now would probably kill him, and as much as he annoyed Hanschen, Melchior didn't deserve what he was going through-- none of them did. So they sat in Melchior's backyard, passing around a cheap bottle of whiskey that his mother didn't have the heart to confiscate, keeping each other company until the sun set and rose again. And if Ernst fell asleep with his head in Hanschen's lap, no one said anything, only feeling hopeful that there was still good in the midst of tragedy.

The longing in Melchior's eyes as he gazed at his friends was heartbreaking, enough so that Hanschen put his arm around Melchior's shoulders, letting him in, sharing with him the light they had found in each other.

_And I never thought this life was possible,_

_you're the yellow bird that I've been waiting for…_

The last box had been unpacked, Ernst had just ordered a pizza (half cheese half black olive) and settled onto the ancient futon Hanschen's parents had given them.

"I didn't think we'd get it all done today," Ernst muses, running a hand through his hair. Hanschen smiles.

"I didn't think you'd actually want to move in with me," Hanschen jokes back, gesturing to the space around them. It was, really, a depressing apartment. The one bedroom with a hole in the wall above the sink was stuffed to the brim with things that made the couple themselves; abstract paintings Hanschen had picked up from a flea market, Ernst's microwave that was older than he was, and the overwhelming amount of house plants turned into the home that they made together. Sure it was dingy and the rent was dirt-cheap, but neither of them would have it any other way.

"Yeah, well me neither. But here we are," Ernst laughs, going to turn on the TV, when Hanschen catches his lips in a searingly sweet kiss.

"Here we are," he repeats, planting a chaste kiss on Ernst's forehead, wondering how he ever got so ridiculously lucky.

_The end of paralysis, I was a statuette,_

"It's just hard, Ernst. I don't expect you to understand," Hanschen spat, throwing down the stack of mail that was mainly bills that were mostly past-due.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ernst was almost yelling, exasperated and hurt. He sat at the kitchen table, watching Hanschen's every move for a sign of what could be bothering him so so. Hanschen couldn't meet his eyes.

"I just- you, Ernst. You are making it hard for me," Hanschen finds the words, not exactly what he wanted to say, but close enough, "I just mean... You. You are doing so many amazing things, you have so many opportunities, and I'm holding you back. I don't know if you're too stupid or too stubborn to see that, but it makes me feel like shit when you have to give up so much just to stay here with me."

Ernst is quiet for a moment. Hanschen isn't wrong-- there had been times where Ernst was given the opportunity to study sculpture with the masters, teach the arts to impoverished children in foreign countries, give his talent to the world, but he said no because he could never leave Hanschen behind.

"You're right. My life would probably be a lot better without you. But that's a life that I wouldn't want to live, because I wouldn't have you. I love you Hanschen, like I'll never love anyone. Do you understand that?" It takes everything in him to remain calm while Hanschen paces relentlessly around him.

"This was a mistake, Ernst. Can't you fucking see it? This is all one huge mistake, we were a mistake!" Hanschen can't help but shout, tears stinging his eyes.

"How can you say that after all we've been through?" Ernst's voice rises, Hanschen wasn't listening.

"Because why else would I feel like this? You're used to feeling weak, I'm not, and now that I am the weak one, I don't know what to do." Shit.

"You... You think that I'm weak?" Ernst asks, voice small. Hanschen had done it now.

"No, of course not! It's just-- I was always the one who- when you were upset or- and- fuck Ernst, it came out all wrong, please, just let me-" Hanschen stammers, scrambling to fix what he had said, but the damage was done.

"Get out." Ernst says quietly. Even though his voice was soft, there was unmistakeable power behind it.

"Ernst, please, just let me explain, I didn't mean it-" Hanschen is breathless, panicking, pleading. Hanschen had never had to beg for anything before, let alone forgiveness.

"You've explained enough. Now get out. You can come back tomorrow, but right now I need you to leave."

Ernst stayed, sat at the kitchen table, while Hanschen packed a bag, swearing quietly to himself.

Hanschen returned early in the morning, and besides rent money left in an envelope on the counter, there was no sign that Ernst had ever lived there.

_now I'm drunk as hell on a piano bench,_

_and when I press the keys it all gets reversed…_

"It was awful, I know it was. It wasn't even true! I just... I didn't know how else to explain it... He wasn't listening..." Hanschen trails off, taking a large swig from the bottle of moscato before passing it back to Georg.

It's cold in Georg's basement, and the legs of the piano they are leaning against aren't very comfortable either. Given the choice, Hanschen wouldn't even be here, but Georg was the first to respond to his texts. He was a good friend, Georg, better than Hanschen deserves.

"Yeah, that's pretty fucked up. Did you believe him, though? About him being okay with giving up his art stuff to be with you?" Georg asks, hiccuping and putting the bottle down.

Hanschen exhales slowly, "No, I didn't." His head is swimming from the cheap wine and his own misery, and his limbs grow heavy. Too drunk to feel anything anymore, he smiles at his own foolishness.

"But why would he do all that if he didn't love you?" Georg reasons, staring intently at Hanschen, wondering how on earth someone so smart could be so stupid.

"I... I don't know..." Hanschen admits, reaching for the bottle again. Georg grabs his hand, stopping him from picking up the drink he clearly didn't need.

Georg's hand was warm despite the temperature of the basement; and the touch of human skin reminded Hanschen just how much he missed Ernst and all the affection he awarded him.

Georg's hands were so warm, alive, there.

Closing his eyes tightly, Hanschen takes ahold of Georg's hands. It was so easy. He leans in.

"Hanschen, stop. What are you doing?" Georg pulls away, holding his palms up to Hanschen's chest to push him back.

"I... I don't know..." Hanschen straightens his back, running his fingers through his hair, "I'm sorry Georg, I don't know why I-- Fuck. I'm sorry."

Georg smiles, patting his friend on the shoulder, "Don't worry about it, really. How about we get something to eat, I'm starving," he changes the subject quickly, standing up and heading up the stairs, beckoning for Hanschen to follow.

Ernst would have held him, told him it's okay, stroked his hair. Ernst wouldn't have pushed him away.

_the sound of loneliness makes me happier._

"Hi, you've reached Ernst Robel and Max Von Trenk. Leave a message and we'll get back to you as soon as we can. _At the tone, please record your message._ **Beep** -“

Hanschen ends the call.

**Author's Note:**

> im sorry for writing a songfic in the year 2020, but i love pain.  
> follow me on tumblr @shootupsom3you


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